


Of darkness and chaos

by AzureRegulus



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Hades (Video Game 2018), fate - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29009175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzureRegulus/pseuds/AzureRegulus
Summary: Over and over the young godling had tried. Even with the blessings of his kin on mount Olympus, Zagreus failed to reach the surface when the fangs of the bone Hydra sent him back into the Styx. But his stubbornness was one thing he inherited from his father.Though, the thought of him fighting his own shackles reminded him of a dream he had. One of a white maned warrior who escaped the clutches of gods.So many questions he had, but never allowed to ask. A warning by Nyx herself.Now he has the chance, as that man is by his side to reach for the surface.
Relationships: Achilles | Rider of Red & Penthesilea | Berserker, Achilles/Patroclus (Hades Video Game), Atalanta | Archer of Red & Original Master
Kudos: 3





	1. Dreams amidst hell

Every time the fangs pierced his skin, the young god grew angrier.

He wanted to retaliate, strike the head down, only for another to swiftly attack him from the side amidst the boiling heat of Asphodel.

Multiple, snake-like heads disrupting his flow of movement.

Yet what he was taught always kept him calm, not allowing his emotions to overwhelm him, neither for the heat to stop any rational thought.

At the sight of the looming bone hydra, baring its magma coated fangs at the young god, he never flinched. It wasn’t the first battle nor the last.

The will the fight was still beating inside his chest, refusing to let go of his crimson sword.

But the moment he struggled to lift it, the blade found its way out of his hand.

The sound of metal hitting the ground signaled his end as the multiple heads of the Hydra lunged for their meal.

...

“…Well…That could have gone better.”.

Out of the pool of water as red as the blood he could shed, the young man shook his black-haired head. “Ugh. I hate that Hydra.”, he muttered to himself as he gazed into the hallway of the dead. Candles illuminated the rows of shades, waiting for their judgement by the absent god of the dead. Curiously he searched for the grey skinned giant of a man and his magnificent, interwoven beard that resembled an upside-down spear.

“Your father stepped out for a bit, child.”.

A calming wave. The voice of a mother approaching in a cloak of darkness.

Approaching the young god were a woman clothed in elegant black robes decorated by the very crystals that give him strength and the god of the dead at her side, his scythe on his back. “Failed again, haven’t you?”, the young man with the white hair presumed with a sigh. “When are you going to learn that there is no way out, Zagreus?”. “You know my stubbornness runs in the family, Than.”, the young son of Hades chuckled.

He knew who his allies are and whom are his enemies.

These two were not the latter.

The god of death groaned. He knew better than to argue with Zagreus for all he knew. But he couldn’t help it. A faint smile spread on his lips before it disappeared. “Then do what you must. I have to get back to my duties. I’ll see you soon, mother.”.

His goodbyes said, the god vanished, leaving the mother goddess and the child alone.

“You know that…”. “I know. Than has…”, the young man answered with a knowing smile. “…his own unique kind of worrying.”.

The goddess sighed softly at the optimistic way Zagreus viewed her child. No matter the hardships he endured, how often he was told to stop fighting, it always spurned him on even more. The closer to the surface he got with each attempt, the stronger he became.

Sitting on his bed, she watched how Zagreus indulged in his reflection. Stroking his own skin where the Hydra’s teeth had pierced his flesh, no wound was to be found. Every strike he took would just vanish, leaving no reminder of his numerous attempts to flee the underworld.

All for the sake of one woman that was dear to him.

A slow, painful groan escaped his lips the more he stared into the mirror of night.

“Child, maybe you should rest for a bit.”, she wisely suggested, knowing of his fatigue. “Physically you might be fine, but alas, your spirit may be exhausted.”.

“Why does no one want to speak of mother, Nyx?”.

Night incarnate averted her sparkling eyes when a single red one stare helplessly at her. “I do not mean this as a question you have to answer, Nyx. But until I have found her, I cannot stop. I mean…”. Staring back into the mirror, his mind wandered back to his dream.

A man with hair as white as snow, a lion’s mane brushed back as if he ran against the wind his entire life. Hardened eyes of sapphire blue as deep as the ocean called the realm of Poseidon. A steeled body covered in scars. Success and failure were a painful reminded of what he went through.

And every time Zagreus stared at the man’s right hand, holding a golden ring, depicting an arrow.

“If someone like this guy can escape the clutches from gods far worse than my uncles and cousins on Olympus, where I have yet to see whom I can trust and whom not, my situation is a walk in the park. I just want to leave the underworld.”.

“His struggles were not the same as yours, child.”, Nyx answered with a firm shake of her head. “I told you numerous times to forget that dream and that man. His tale is one of chaos and destruction chained to his body for eternity. That is what he was born into and the only way he got out of it-“. “I remember, Nyx.”, Zagreus smiled sympathetically. Nyx voice faded at the knowing expression. “He was tortured his entire life. I…spoke to Achilles about what this man had been through and he called it a fate crueler than death. A life that went on for so long. I am glad he at least has a family now. Though, it is hard to imagine someone like Artemis opening her arms and calling someone her family.”. “Ours, definitely…”, Nyx muttered under her breath. “She is very seclusive. But the two of them are not the same.

Raising from the bed, she saw herself out of his chamber, not before brushing over his black hair.

“Stay strong, my child. Know that darkness is always with you.”.

Nyx had protected and guided him ever since he could remember. Every attempt he did, she is shrouded in protective darkness. Even when he learned about his birthmother, she would nurture him to become a man people trusted and relied on.

All aside from his father. The lord of the underworld himself…

Hades.

Times and times father and son butted heads until the son had enough. Having found notes about his birthmother leaving them all behind, a desire swelled up inside his chest to find her again. Though callous about his own demises, seeing them as walks that are rudely interrupted, his will to find his kin was unbreakable and Nyx supported him however she could. He had allies, scattered among his path.

Alone in his chamber, Zagreus took a deep breath. Achilles told him to do so whenever he was anxious or felt his body grow stiff from fear.

“If you could get out…”.

Eyes of red and emerald glowed in the shadows covering his face.

“…so can I.”, he promised. Walking towards his weapon chamber, he still couldn’t help thinking about that strange man.

“But…there are questions I’d love to have asked you. Maybe you could give me some answers.”.

Stepping outside his chamber, his eyes lit up at the animated skeleton jumping and punching the air. “Hey, Skelly.”. Turning its head towards the young man, Zagreus was met with a wave of the thin, bony fingers. “Hey there, boyo. Ready for more training?”, the skeleton greeted the young god whose gaze takes in the sight of the magnificent weaponry.

Immediately he went towards his favorite weapon.

A two-edged blade of crimson, as if having been dunked into the styx itself.

Giving a few playful slices in front of him, his mind was already settled that this was his companion for his next attempt. “Nah. I am good right now. Thanks, mate.”, Zagreus showed his gratitude mixed with wonder. Ever since he started his journey towards the surface, with less than success, that very same jumpy skeleton was always there.

He didn’t even know how. Skelly was just there out of nowhere, being a continuous punching bag.

“Skelly, is there really no way you could tell me who-“.

“Less talking, more slicing. Told ya often enough, right?”, the bone man answered, punching the air in front of him, making Zagreus sigh. As much as he wished to know, Skelly’s metaphorical lips were sealed shut. “I guessed as much. Worth a shot though.”, Zagreus chuckled. Walking towards the door outside of Tartarus, the hand that reached for Tartarus’ doors, suddenly stopped.

Skelly eyed the young man curiously. “What’s wrong, boyo? Getting cold feet?”.

A bad joke considering the flame covered foot of the young god that had yet to learn how to kick the skeleton.

Unable to put his mind on it, Zagreus gazed into his palm. A slow clench, testing if he was still in control.

“I am fine, Skelly. Don’t worry about me losing my nerve.”, he answered, cloaking worry behind a reassuring curl of his lips…

…hiding the sudden feeling he had before.

As something was clawing at him, dragging something out of him.

Disregarding the strange sensation, the god fell, ready to wreak chaos in his father’s realm once more.


	2. The queen's protection

## The queen’s protection

It was just another rainy morning outside the city.

From beyond her glasses, Penthesilea stared out into the darkness outside. Her body yearned for sleep, but she typed away on her keyboard, hoping her mind could be lifted through work.

A silent sigh escaped her beautiful though pursed lips.

“Achilles…”, Penthesilea whispered her beloved’s name with golden, striking eyes glaring outside. “What is wrong with you?”.

As soon as the great holy grail war was over, things happened so fast. They incarnated and thanks to their battle before allowing them to vent anger and regret into an honorable battle to settle the score with the queen emerging victorious, any hatred Penthesilea bore for the child of Thetis was gone. The sight of his spiked green hair and breezy grin was more soothing than outright boiling up rage she held for so long. And soon, Servants and masters were pulled into a world away from Fuyuki, away to enjoy a mostly peaceful life in a world that was a connection to others.

It allowed Penthesilea and Achilles not only to find strong opponents to fight against, something both valued highly, but also see old comrades again and reconcile.

Odysseus.

Hector.

Paris.

All three of the trojan war were present. While some issues still had to be sorted out between Hector and Achilles, including the former stopping to throw stones at the Rider’s head, Odysseus and Penthesilea exchanged their stories and laughed how the king found a girl with green hair interested in a sword instead of dolls or clothes.

And so, so many more they met. People they previously heard from by the master of the Archer of Red. That white-maned lion they jokingly called ‘the greek flag incarnate’ at the side of the huntress of Arcadia.

Iskandar the Conqueror.

Artoria Pendragon.

King Gilgamesh.

Princess Medea.

Medusa.

Heracles.

Heroes and monsters more human than the legends told.

As they reconciled with their own group, Penthesilea had watched with an amused grin on her face how far away, the Argonauts were riddling the Archer’s master with questions, cut off by Atalanta standing between them, roaring against them to give him space to breathe.

It was amusing and seemed like a dream that could fade at any moment, leaving behind shambles of what they wished to have.

They learned that after the greater grail’s destruction, the throne of heroes crumbled and every Servant that was recorded inside of it was a given a choice.

Be incarnated…or fade towards promised afterlife.

Those who were incarnated, did so as the perfect versions of themselves. King Gilgamesh was the most awe-inspiring example. The mind of the king the people of Uruk loved inside the body that carried the terrifying strength of his prime as an Archer. Once his strength was allowed to be seen, the monsters that plagued this world were torn asunder by the calm and collected king of Uruk raining a golden hell down on the victims. He called it ‘settling a debt’, whatever it was.

The other extreme was Heracles. Summoned as a Berserker, the moment they returned, they were greeted by the magnificent Archer that vanquished the Hydra. Atalanta, having heard how Crio was scarred by the gentle giant who was her comrade, a true hero striving for justice and wouldn’t budge for someone he deemed unworthy, was ready to face the beast of the fifth holy grail, only to come face-to-face with the same eyes she adored back on the Argo. Sharp eyes that took down the Hydra, smiling at the huntress having received the unconditional love of someone she yearned for.

Yet there were still some oddities, like the Alter Servants. The darkest parts of their history, or just their most disgusting feelings, unable to be merged with their original counterparts. Artoria Pendragon is one such extreme.

A blinding light on one side.

Devouring darkness on the other.

Both able to destroy.

Yet for now, it was peaceful and the queen lived a life she never would have dreamed of. Free of hatred. Free of the past. Even if a small scar remained below her chest, a wound that Achilles kissed gently every single night as an apology, Penthesilea never raged again. Every time his lips wandered down to her abs, she relished on his respect and love for the queen. He’d say it so often, that there never was a woman more beautiful in his life and she’d smile every time he was close, keeping him from stopping his worshipping.

The two travelled through this unknown world often, finding new opponents on the way to compete against, spending time they never thought possible and learning how similar the queen and the warrior truly were.

The very first time her eyes read online that an author, Heinrich von Kleist, wrote a book about the life of the amazon, an alternation where Achilles lived and she offered him to be her king, a scoff escaped her. Nowadays, she laughs how this might have become reality, had he known how to keep his mouth shut. But he was a scatterbrain and that was one of the reasons Penthesilea loved him so much.

Yet…right now he seemed so distant.

Sighing softly, Penthesilea glared at the sideboard to her right. There were few memories of their past sitting there. A few small statues depicting gods like Artemis and Ares, patron gods of the Amazons, a picture of greece from the ancient times and a Lyre.

Only today, the instrument that bestowed her such beautiful tunes once his fingers would play only for her, was absent.

Even with them all reconciling and averting their eyes and minds from the tragedy that was the trojan war, some things were not easy to be let go of. While not outright hating Heracles, Penthesilea had to swallow at the sight of the greek that meant the death of Hippolyta, her older sister. It was said that she was violently beaten by the half-son of Zeus and his very presence was unnerving.

But when they met one night, Heracles asked Achilles to drop his guard and allow Penthesilea to speak. The giant greek took every hateful word she tried to poison him with.

Regretfully, Heracles spoke of the beautiful queen.

She was kind, offering a place to stay and wished to give him the belt for his labor without a fight. The last they wanted was bloodshed.

But Hera had other plans, instilling Heracles to have to defend himself before Hippolyta arrived.

Upon hearing the name of the goddess fall, Penthesilea turned her head away from the legend. Hera’s interventions were known throughout the world. The faithful wife of Zeus that hated the children the king of the gods had with mortal women.

Penthesilea always paid respect to the gods. Ares was her father and Artemis a deity the amazons revered for her archery, praying for their arrows to skewer every enemy.

Fighting to keep her amazon pride, Penthesilea’s teeth tore into her lips, the hands on her swords quivering. A part of her was screaming violently.

Kill him.

Butcher him.

Tear him to pieces.

Make him suffer.

But one person understood her feelings better than anyone.

Short in stature, the queen found herself pressed against the chest of the very man she hated before. His arms protected her from Heracles’ regret and thankfully she clutched onto his back, hiding her sobs.

Because that very man also lost someone dear to him.

In some tales it was family, in some his beloved.

Once a month, Achilles would travel over the bridge connecting the large modern city to the mainland in search for solitude to pay his respect and love. A small cliff served fine. He’d stab his spear into the ground, lean against a nearby rock and began playing his lyre. In spite of his nature in battle, the songs Achilles played were incredibly beautiful, a skill taught by Chiron himself.

But whenever he did so, tears would gather in his eyes, making it harder for him to see the scarf wrapped around the end of his spear.

Penthesilea knew that wherever he was, even sitting in the rain, he was probably crying all by himself for the one person Achilles loved the most before herself.

“Patroclus…”.

She whispered the name ruefully. Elegant steps carried her to the sideboard, undoing a lock to pull out a book. An old compendium of greek legends, though incomplete. ‘Crio once gave it to me when I grew interested.’, she remembered how the white-haired master of Atalanta was about to burn it in blue flames. ‘Atalanta was hurt how all these tales made Crio think about us in a certain manner before even knowing who we are as persons. She was shattered when black ink spoke of her having abandoned her own baby in the woods. That is why he was so jumpy whenever Atalanta tried to share a tender touch, even just holding her hand in front of us.’.

Upon looking through the tags, she quickly found what she was searching for.

The picture was old, taken straight from a picture on a vase.

Achilles helping a wounded Patroclus to apply a bandage on him.

“Why did you fool go beyond your limits?”.

Stroking the picture, Penthesilea took in angry breath. “You were not a born warrior like myself, Achilles or Odysseus. He told me you were rather peaceful for someone who was supposed to fight on the frontlines. Yet, you stubbornly went to drive the trojans back, ignoring his warning…only to die by Hector’s spear. You were not meant for the battlefield, and now, he is still grieving.”, she hissed to herself, searching the dark clouds outside for an answer. Penthesilea was just unable to understand that if someone was not meant to fight, a weak man like him, why he’d do something as reckless as donning the armor of the greek’s strongest warrior.

“Have you incarnated as well? Were you even recorded? Or were you sent to Elysium already? Are you proud of yourself, or have you died with grief?”.

Hector never once spoke of the battle against Patroclus. At some nights, the group would eat in a restaurant. Despite sometimes glaring at the constantly tired looking man, as long as Penthesilea was around and holding his hand, Achilles drowned his temper. But she felt the Lancer’s eyes gazing at those large fingers curling around her tender ones.

Out of respect, the Lancer never spoke, accepting the Rider treating it as if nothing happened.

It was a powder keg that was constantly being filled. The moment the son of Thetis would break, Penthesilea and Odysseus were constantly ready for. They were the only two able to restricted him once that happened, the queen especially.

Penthesilea had cursed Achilles before her death, wishing for his spear tear into a beloved person. Her rage followed her to the present day, only allowing her to appear in her younger frame and not her adulterated beauty that would have made even Aphrodite blush.

Artemis herself said that Penthesilea was incredibly beautiful and no man would survive that sight, if not for her helmet back in the day.

One who was drowning in her own rage was always ready for her beloved exploding one day or the other. But it never happened. Even alone outside he treated Hector respectfully, though with the one or other remark these two could not keep to themselves and getting chewed out later.

The moment she heard the lock come undone, quickly the cursed book of memories was hidden and locked away. Straightening her dress and making sure her royal blue hairband was proper, Penthesilea turned her eye back to her screen. “You have taken your time today, Achilles.”, she tried to sound angry as usual. “What kept you so long, idiot? It is storming already. Did you at least think of-“.

Drops, followed by multiple steps.

Upon noticing he wasn’t alone and gazing at the door, Penthesilea’s voice croaked.

Not only was there a soaking wet Achilles, but Chiron and Odysseus, supporting the broken looking Rider. Atalanta was there as well, watching over the son of their still missing comrade.

“What in the…BY THE GODS, YOU DAMNED FOOL!!!”.

Penthesilea, red with anger and worry, couldn’t even discern the tears on his face from the rain dripping down his flat green hair.

A hand, reaching out towards him. A touch barely felt and her blood freezing upon contact with the cold skin. “…Chaso! How long have you been out in the rain?!”, she asked, her heated voice hitting his skin. “Don’t tell me you have been sitting out there ever since it started? Have you lost your mind?! We are not fullfletched Servants anymore! We can get sick and even die!”.

He didn’t react to her touch, a melancholic gaze faraway in the past, aside from a meager ‘sighnomi’ as an answer.

Penthesiles couldn’t see the brash, scatterbrain of a man right now who loved her ever since the trojan war and throughout the chaos that was the great holy grail war.

“Damn idiot…”.

Clenching his shirt, the queen removed her glasses. “You have been behaving strange for the last couple of weeks. I do not know what is going on with you, but I will not tolerate you behaving like a reckless fool. Understood?”, harsh words fell like a hammer upon his wet green hair.

“Go. Take a bath. I will get you some clothes.”.

Silently heeding her order, Achilles vanished while Penthesilea gestured to the others to make themselves comfortable on the dining table.

Odysseus explained that him and Chiron found Achilles standing at the cliff, completely soaked and staring into the sea. He barely reacted to Chiron lecturing his son for risking his health, reprimanding him that he is no Servant anymore and so, they immediately brought him back, meeting Atalanta and Crio on the way.

Though strangely, the huntress was here without her husband.

“He had that same look from that night.”, Atalanta explained over a coffee with the queen. A sharp gaze was fixated on Chiron. “Achilles had it rough in the great holy grail war. Attempting to apologize to Penthesilea, finding out how to fight, Chiron. It all gnawed on his mind together with the thought of failure.”. “Failure?”, the white-haired Rider muttered curiously. Having Achilles pondering sounded like a weird daydream.

“Too much at once happened, Odysseus.”, she brushed away the details. “He came to me one night for guidance, asking me what he could do to finally apologize to Penthesilea. That topic alone made it harder for him to speak as the guilt was a snare coiled around his throat. He told me about his life, how Peleus spoke so fondly of me and the siblings he lost. But when he began to speak of Patroclus…”.

Penthesilea silently turned her head away.

Again that name that still haunted her beloved.

Atalanta sighed, admonished as the memory of that night returned. “That look…that was a child that lost everything it cared about.”. Silently she glanced at Penthesilea, noticing that something wrong. A shadow of guilt hung over the queen’s eyes, averted from the Archer.

Exchanging a look with Chiron and Odysseus, the two men nodded back at Atalanta. The teacher softly smiled at the queen he already viewed as his stepdaughter. “I know Achilles is in good hands with you. You keep him in check after all.”, he spoke confidently of the queen. “He might be a little needful of attention, just as a warning.”.

Lifting her head, she gratefully nodded. “I will. Take care, Chiron.”.

“I have to meet Jason myself, so I’ll join him. Be well, queen Penthesilea.”, Odysseus respectfully bowed towards a fellow royal, before turning to the huntress. “And Atalanta?”.

Opening an eye to his soft laughter, she smiled a bit to his offer. “Tell your husband I’d love to meet and speak with him at some point.”. “Once he is better, I am sure he’d be happy, Odysseus. There will be a lot to discuss. _Chere.”_ , Atalanta promised, bidding him goodbye.

Once all were gone and Achilles still in the bath, Penthesilea led Atalanta outside to the balcony.

It was the perfect opportunity for Atalanta to get some clarity.

“What was that look before?”, the huntress swiftly got to the point. Penthesilea flinched at the point-blank emerald arrows the dug into her skin. “You must have mistaken it. There is no-“.

“I know that look from many people when they hide something.”, Atalanta warned, her voice become quieter, yet all the more dangerous. “I am married to a self-proclaimed ‘abomination’ that hid from me through the entire war that he was some sort of weapon by the gods, and you think I cannot read you like a book? Penthesilea, what happened?”.

No matter how she wished, there were three people in this world Penthesilea could never hide anything from. Those were the Goddess of the hunt, the huntress of Arcadia and that woman’s husband. The killer with the white mane of a lion and eyes as dead as a starving shark.

All of them could read the Berserker queen like an open book. Taking a deep breath, she ceased fighting against that emerald hail of arrows. “Do you remember that book Crio wanted to burn?”, Penthesilea reminded her.

A scowl crawled over the emerald eyes. “I asked him to remove it. The only thing it did was damage him.”, she clicked her tongue. “Me…pregnant with a child before I even began the races. Absurd. Because of those things, it took Crio nearly dying for us to take that important step together and make him Artemis’ child, just like me.”.

Crio’s near death experience never left Atalanta a calm moment. The first time he ever wished to not want to die, so she wouldn’t suffer, was in her arms. How her heart was aching, the iron smell of his blood on her hands only made stronger because of the pelt of the boar attached to her body.

Taking a deep, shaky breath and pushing the haunting memory far away, Atalanta coldly glared at Penthesilea. “After all we had been through, I never wanted to see it again and he agreed on it immediately. I thought that damn thing was gone.”. A harsh look fell on the unmoving queen. Many glares she got before, even Atalanta’s own at the beginning of the great holy grail war and never moved, neither flinched. Yet this time, the tips of her arrows were fueled with a poison she never felt before. Atalanta was enraged, more than ever before. “So, you took it, didn’t you?”.

“I asked of him to hand it to me, yes.”, Penthesilea admitted with unaffected nod from the huntress’ anger. “I wanted to see what he warned us about.”.

“I thought you as the queen of amazons were smarter than this.”, Atalanta bared her teeth at Penthesilea. “Are you an idiot? Crio warned us during the very first nights of the war to never research ourselves for a reason. He told me after returning into my arms, those horrible tales they spread about us! About the atrocities Medea apparently committed! About Medusa being raped by Poseidon! Are you out of your mind?!”.

The more she was roared at, the more the queen fought to keep herself together. Patient she had become. Yet there still was the Berserker, hidden deep inside that small frame. “Keep your tongue in check, Atalanta!”, Penthesilea growled back at the huntress. Glowing orange orbs surrounded by darkness returned the Archer’s venom with the pride of a queen, the daughter of Ares, and dangerous aura of a Berserker surrounding her. “What I research is my matter alone. If I wish to know if some blasted _malakes_ wrote a story about my corpse being raped, that is my matter! If I want to check if Achilles betrayed me, it is mine as well. Reading what men did to you, just as well-Kgh?!”.

The moment the moment the huntress’ atrocious tales were mentioned, Penthesilea found Atalanta’s eyes turning a very pale green.

“I have patience for you, Penthesilea, as another worshipper of Artemis…”, Atalanta warned with the enraged gaze of a beast facing the Berserker. Barely noticeable, darkness started to surround her, threatening to activate her pelt inside her body.

“But if you mention what they did to my legend only once, I will not hesitate to put you in your place. Don’t think for a second that I have dulled because I married Crio immediately after the war. Once I release my arrows, they will burrow into your skin without fail. Do want to tempt me still?!”.

The pelt didn’t need to be in Atalanta’s hands anymore. After her incarnation, the pelt became a part of her being, allowing her to transform freely without ramming it into her body.

Penthesilea knew that already. With a deep shaky breath, her regular, sun-colored eyes returned to normal. Leaning over the ceiling, she gazed at the waves crashing into the seaside walk, regret being the rain drowning her heart.

“I wanted to know what happened.”, she lowered her voice. For once, the queen had trouble speaking.

Atalanta could easily detect them with her sharp ears. “Hector refuses to talk. I want that problem to stay in the past. Aside from obscure ones, the only thing I regretted was finding that picture of Achilles and Patroclus, with barely any explanation of what happened.”.

Penthesilea gazed up at Atalanta, searching for the truth. The huntress knew the question before it left her lips.

Sighing softly, she gazed at the horizon, back to Romania. “He was crying that night when you spoke with my husband.”, Atalanta explained, staring into the cup of coffee in her hand. The warm haze shrouded her face, becoming a mirror into the past. “He told me so many things. That he called me and Crio sister and brother because he lost all his siblings. None were ever born and his parents parted ways because of him. What Peleus told the boy of myself and how he wanted his children to meet me. How he gave Patroclus his armor and warned to only drive the trojans back and never pursue them while clad in that armor.”.

The sobs still clear in her mind, Atalanta glanced at Penthesilea’s tense shoulders.

“His name wasn’t even needed to make him shed tears of regret.”.

Taking a small sip, hoping it soothed the aching in her throat, Atalanta returned her emerald frown to Penthesilea. “He was shattered. Broken. That night, he was not the son of Peleus. Not the grown man I reprimanded to behave like the hero tales told. Achilles was a confused child I embraced that night and lend my shoulder to, so he could finally grief for all he had done. He was whispering Patroclus name so often, apologizing over and over.”.

Penthesilea’s body shivered. Not from the cold, but her blood freezing solid.

“And then, the tears he shed were for you.”.

Words tore into her back like a sharp knife.

Atalanta turned her head away from the queen’s shaking body. “Imagine this. Peleus’ son, now a grown man, reverting to sobbing child. In my shoulder, he cried your name over and over, Penthesilea, asking what it would take for you to be free of that anger, how his apologies couldn’t get through to you. His head. His limbs.”, the huntress coldly explained, hiding the pain she felt in a sympathetic smile as she set the empty cup down on the nearby table. “He had two regrets in his life: You and Patroclus. One he could repair with blood and broken bones. And would become the punching bag against if it meant you’d lift him by his chestplate again to gift him your lips by your own volition.”, Atalanta softly laughed, a hand on Penthesilea’s shoulder, pulling her half open gaze to herself. “When me and Crio saw that stupid grin on his face when you snatched the first kiss from him, one of many to come. He ignored the taste of your mixed blood after your victory, smiling like a young boy that got the girl of his dreams. He was so happy to have fixed his mistake and didn’t have to look at you from afar anymore. Now that he could hold you close, lifting you into the air as the sun shines down on your hair, he couldn’t believe his luck.”.

Finally, Penthesilea smile returned. “I had to give that fool some kind of reward for sticking to his goal. Achilles was told to be persistent.”, she admitted, wiping a lose strand behind her ear. A golden gaze wandered towards Atalanta’s ring, engraved with a sword and the name of the huntress’ beloved on the inside. “Though, I am still waiting for the day he goes on his knees and proposes.”.

“At least I hope it will be a more romantic moment than what me and Crio had to go through.”, the huntress ruefully laughed with a drop of sweat forming on her temple. Lovingly, Atalanta stared at the ring on her finger. “I was so terrified that night in the rain. I thought I would return to the throne and forget all about him. Though, if I had to choose between going through this or never having met Crio, I’d push through that heartache.”.

“Heh…”, Penthesilea scoffed a bit at the similarity. “Maybe some of Peleus words about you actually got through to Achilles. That sounded much like what he told me one night.”. Ignoring Atalanta’s rising eyebrow and gazing into the distance, Penthesilea allowed her lips to curl into a soft smile, rare like a falling star. “If we had to go through this once more, if we had to fight again because of the curse I put on him, he would plow his spear into my body again…”.

Her hand brushed below her right breast where the scar was hidden. There was no pain, no sting. But now, the wound was a fond memory.

“…because he would do so out of love. No matter how much it hurt him, he would do so again as his own declaration of his affection for me.”.

Smiling, Atalanta crossed her arms. “I think there are better ways to proclaim your love.”, she laughed, leaning against the railing as well. “Maybe that is just me my own experience speaking.”. “Probably.”, Penthesilea answered ruefully. “I…really thought Crio was going to die that day. It felt as if the whole battlefield was covered in his blood.”.

The queen shook her head, trying to forget how both herself and Achilles were covered in Crio’s own life essence, the cost for him protecting both of his comrades. It was a nightmare she hoped to forget. One of many.

Forcing a playful grin, Penthesilea pointed out: “At least you got a perfect marriage. I heard lady Artemis was ogling both of you. But thinking about it, where is my brother?”.

Ever since the great holy grail war, the queen took the huntress’ husband as her brother. It had taken a bit, but now, they were inseparable.

Atalanta’s scowl was a bad omen. “Over the span of a few days, Crio has come down with horrible headaches.”, she elaborated on his absence. “He can barely sleep. At first, I thought some of his scars are causing him that pain”.

“The one from Heracles?”.

Atalanta nodded.

The gruesome scar still on his body, even if he took it with pride of having saved someone, she would see every night when their clothes were gone. Be it underneath the shower, the bed when basked in moonlight or him relishing on the morning sun.

When she pressed herself against his bare back, she hoped her presence eased the pain. Once Heracles returned as an Archer, the moment he thought about nearly having taken Atalanta’s husband away from her, was too much for him to even bare looking at her.

“That is what I thought. The scar is huge and maybe the physical strain actually got to his head. However, neither it or the various others have anything to do with it, at least according to him. Medea is out of ideas and tomorrow I am going to make an appointment with Asclepius to look him over. This is not normal.”. “I hope he is getting better soon.”, Penthesilea wished the best for his health, earning a smile and a pat on her shoulder. “He is my husband. I will get him back on his feet. You watch over your lover. I think he needs you now more than ever.”, Atalanta eases and returns the queen’s focus to the man in the bath.

“I will. But at least let me give you something. Since he visits from time to time and helps me with my work, I have his favorite tea in stock. Maybe that will lift his mood a little.”.

“We actually ran out of that today. My thanks.”.

When Atalanta was gone and Penthesilea was staring outside, she couldn’t help the feeling of something going on.

Achilles drowning in his memories.

Crio suddenly tortured by severe headaches.

Something was hanging in the air.

That night, when they shared the bed again, Penthesilea stirred to the sound of whimpers. She could feel tears trickling down her belly.

His face hidden in her abs, her beloved was whispering in his slumber.

“ _Sighnomi…Patroclus. Sighnomi!”._

Over and over, he apologized and the more she heard him break, even in his dreams, the more frustrated the queen became.

_“Please…forgive me…I…should have never…given you the armor!”._

Shifting a bit so he’d comfortable laid over her, Penthesilea pressed Achilles to her toned body with a questioning look towards the dark clouds outside. A slow sigh escaped her lips. “He doesn’t hate you, Achilles…”, Penthesilea tried to push the nightmare away. “Patroclus loved you for all you were. A brother. Family. Maybe even something you do not want to tell me.”.

Rain continuously prattled down, just like the past did.

Her eyes grew heavier once more and reality faded.

The water of the rivers seemed like flowing clouds.

A gigantic statue of a warrior…

…protecting a lone man, questioning Elysium. Sun-kissed skin. A long brown beard. The garbs of the myrmidons.

A yearning look, gazing straight through the amazon queen.

And the moment her eyes snapped open, one name escaped her lips.

“…Patroclus?!”, she gasped.

A glimpse at the dream that tortured Achilles.

Her arms wrapped underneath his, easily pulling him up. Having his head rest on her breast, allowing her heartbeat to soothe his nightmare, Penthesilea embraced her beloved.

And questioned what she saw, asking if that was what he saw every second.

“…I will not allow this.”.

The strength of the queen was terrifying.

When her arms wrapped around him, his tears dried and his lips stopped reaching towards the man long gone.

A hand ran through his spiky green hair, combing them back. A fiercely protective gaze tore into the darkness outside.

“Whatever nightmare there still is…I will crush it.”.

Penthesilea would protect him, no matter how long it took. Her 


	3. The huntress' lament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loud growling thunder and glass shattering, fragile as how she felt the life of her husband be.
> 
> Balancing on a fine line when even the god of medicine couldn't find hope for the huntress of Arcadia clinging to her master, Atalanta cried bitter tears. Days upon days, Crio suffered from grueling headaches, robbing him of sleep and rest, and the huntress of affection and love, as he'd suffer from them every night.
> 
> Desperate, she would call Asclepius in hope for a cure.

That warmth was gone once more.

She yearned for it every night.

When rain and cold ruled with an iron grip, the warmth of the person who loved her the most wrapping his strong arms around her delicate body was a dream in the midst of reality. A wish she granted herself without the use of the greater grail that had been disintegrated for good. Her arms would wander around his waist up to his wide back, lips pressed against his neck while she took in her beloved’s scent.

But the moment he was gone, no matter how much he tried to sneak, she’s pick up immediately on the lost warmth. It was something she asked herself for so long, yet had no answer.

It just happened as so many things did.

Again, with the sound of deafening thunder, Atalanta, her ears pressed against her head, woke to the empty side of the large bed. A gift by Artemis towards the huntress and her beloved master, it was spacious for many reasons the goddess predicted after giving the acceptance to marry.

It was meant for two and being alone in it, made Atalanta not only nervous, but lonely as well. So, whenever he woke up, she would as well. Flinching as another the room was brightened and deafening thunder followed, Atalanta curled up, covering her ears with her pillow. ‘By the gods, this damned weather!’, she cursed. The downside of animal ears were the increased sensitivity. Loud noises already were a problem, but thunder reminded her of an unfortunate end she had to face. Sighing below the pillow, her eyes cracked open as she whispered to herself: “Crio…hurry up and come back to bed…”.

Even if it was just for a few seconds to get himself some water, she wanted her master at her side. However, he left at night more and more often and she was already aware why. Throwing blanket and pillow aside, Atalanta groaned, rubbing her eyes. “Maybe I should take a look if-“.

The sharp sound of broken glass cut her thoughts apart. Without a second wasted, Atalanta leaped out of the bed towards the living room.

“Crio?! Is everything okay?!”.

A sharp gasp escaped her beautiful lips, seeing her master crouch over the remains of a glass of water.

Fingers nearly tore into his white hair, as harsh, heated breaths were taken, sounding as if he had a sword rammed in his body. Everything inside of him was burning while his head felt like it was about to explode.

The world around Crio was a haze, twisting and nearly making him vomit.

Even gazing up at the worry of his beloved Archer wife kneeling next to him was too much of an effort.

“Crio! Oh, not again!”.

A shaking hand tried to reach up to her, barely noticing the black silk of her nightdress.

“A-A-“.

Not even her name could be spoken underneath the pressure on his head.

It was jarring to see the once so powerful master that could take on a Berserker in a battle be this vulnerable. Swiftly, Atalanta supported him from falling. “Shhh! Don’t speak, my love!”, she hushed his pained gasps. “Everything is okay. I am here.”.

Wrapping her arms around his chest, the huntress helped her husband to his feet and towards the couch.

His teeth clenched, the rugged breaths didn’t stop, as if someone was drawing out a jagged sword from his body, drenched as he sweated a waterfall.

Tiredly cracking his eyes open, they fixated on the third shattered glass this week. “S-Sorry…”, he squeezed out against the pain. “I…broke another-“. “Forget the blasted glass, Crio!”, Atalanta immediately stopped him from uttering another word. Worried she reached for his forehead, stroking his cheek. The heat felt like it was burning her skin. “You look horrible. Your face is so pale, it nearly resembles your hair, but your skin feels harsher than the sun. Those headaches, are they drilling into your head again?”.

Weakly he nodded, continuing to hiss from the pain inside his head.

After the great holy grail war was over and the greater grail destroyed, the goddess of the hunt had taken Servant and Master into her world. A haven for worlds that were about to perish and sink into chaos. Artemis greeted Crio as her son, embraced him like only a mother could and shedding tears of joy she wanted to relieve herself since his life had begun. Atalanta was freed of her oath of purity due to her own honesty and wishing to be a wife to someone she loved like Medea did.

No need to work for gods anymore with Artemis as their shield, in the presence of a handful of people, including the Caster and her husband, Crio and Atalanta married in the woods of this world.

Months passed and, aside from demons appearing from time to time, an aftereffect of this strange place being a merging point, they didn’t have any responsibilities to go after. Income was provided by the goddess and the only missions he’d officially get were only from that very goddess.

They could live their lives how they wished to. They could travel the world or snuggle at home. They could make new connections to Servants from a far different world, even a place somewhere inside the moon.

And they could love during the nights as much as they wanted with nothing to restrict them. Artemis allowed them to blossom, watching fondly when she floated in the sky and saw them in the park on a bench, simply embracing each other.

However, something strange started to haunt the goddess’ son.

Weeks had passed since it all began. Small headaches that came and went without any clue.

At first Atalanta found it amusing, blaming and lecturing him from working too much on his pc. Even if there was no official work, he helped out the other residence from Fuyuki at times. Tax declarations still had to be made and cars needed their maintenance. His knowledge of the computer was also much approved to those who were not as adapt to the modern times.

Upon his defeated look, Atalanta would take his hand, leading him into the forest nearby to practice archery, an art he never had the chance to learn with his father and mother dead before he could. She loved every second to see how he pulled the arrow back and aimed. Softly, her whispers formed the landscape in his imagination, allowing him to feel the thrill of a hunt on wild bear, shooting it right between its eyes. And the smile he had when he hit the target dead on, Atalanta felt blessed to see every time. No matter how many Archers lived in this world, only to her he looked up to as a teacher.

But more and more, these headaches returned, getting stronger each and every time. Lifting her bow alone was too much of an effort and the shots started to miss more and more often. Frustrated at his own inability to aim, Atalanta sooth him with tender kisses on his temple, having noticed his eyes twitching from pain.

And it repeated, over and over.

When he attempted to get himself a glass of water, they struck again.

It would take few seconds, and then they’d vanish. Every day, the pain grew worse. More and more exhausted Crio would get. His skin pale as the moon, his forehead burning and his body shaking violently in her arms.

The more she watched Crio like this, the more she was reminded of one of the worst moments of the war.

Fear was slowly taking over the nights rest she yearned for.

For of her beloved…

…slipping into an eternal slumber.

“Come here, agapi mou.”, her soothing voice, a balm to his soul, descended.

Sitting on his lap, Atalanta’s tender arms protectively pulled her beloved towards her chest. Upon the feeling of her loving embrace keeping him safe, inhaling her sweet scent ever unchanging even after so much time had passed, Crio’s body began to relax. It always did when she was close by.

The shivering slowly disappeared and his arms yearned for her embrace, wrapping around her slim hips. His ragged breaths would slowly calm down.

Tenderly her hands brushed over his white mane. While the shuddering disappeared, the tension didn’t fade.

“It is fine. You are safe, agapi mou…Don’t fight.”.

Words she whispered when he’d sometimes wake up at night with a murderous look in his eyes, searching for an invisible enemy that would try to cut into his throat.

The years of servitude had taken a huge toll on him. The moment a can would fall down in an alley, every hair on his body would stand up, ready to kill a pursuer when the only one responsible was the wind. Only her voice was what calmed him down.

“Shh…No more fighting. You can rest. Close your eyes, _agapi mou._ It is over. Shh…”.

Whenever she whispered these calming words to the one she called her love, his mind started to clear.

His breathing slowed down once more and the tension in his body faded. Her voice was heaven to him. Safety and protection from the life that pursued him. What he tried to leave behind.

But she couldn’t hold back her worry. ‘Every night I find you like this.’. Fearfully Atalanta’s heart pounded against her chest. ‘I don’t know what is happening to you. I fear you are fading…’.

The very thought of Thanatos’s scythe on his throat with patience to finally reap made her blood run cold.

And the thought of waking up the next morning to a corpse suddenly seemed much too real. It was a nightmare that seemed so close, she could feel its icy breath.

“…I know you dislike it…”, her calm whispers began to tremble. “I know how much you despise having him looking over you, but I will ask Asclepius to come over.”.

A lone tear rolled down her cheek, falling on his white mane.

Whenever she would begin to cry, his heart would break. Every sob he had to endure in the war he’d never forget. Never.

When he could barely open his eyes and saw her clutching his hand with the seals, her hair as white as the moon and tears as real as her oath trailing her cheeks, falling on the bloody bandages surrounding his body.

Never did Crio desire to see Atalanta like this ever again.

Asclepius.

The god of medicine, a former Argonaut. While the best there is, the way Asclepius gazed at Crio’s scars covering his body made her master feel very uncomfortable around him, even if it was just curiosity how Crio survived for so long or even healed. The one time he had noticed Crio’s scar on his back, his intrigue made Atalanta jump between the two with the clear warning that the white lion was not his Guinea pig, but her beloved and that should he dare as much as touch that damn scar, she’d rain down hell on him.

That is why before they’d even think of visiting him for a checkup, Medea was their first choice. Having known Crio ever since the fifth holy grail war, the beautiful Caster knew the man she called her brother in an out, longer than Atalanta herself knew her husband. She had already treated numerous wounds on his body and no matter what, Crio trusted her wholeheartedly.

He loved her like a sister and was glad to return to see her marry, just as intended.

However, not even she could find out what was wrong with Crio.

_“Atalanta…I really don’t know what is going on with him.”._

_“Are you sure? You of all people couldn’t find anything?”._

He had been sleeping in their bedroom after the examination. The way Medea helplessly bit on her nail, Atalanta dreaded what she was going to say.

_“I am scared, Atalanta. This is not normal. Keep an eye on him, no matter what. The next time you find him like this, take him to Asclepius, even if you have to chain him up! I will help you do so if my stubborn brother decides to fight it.”._

The huntress took a deep breath, trying to still her worry. “I know you dislike it, Crio.”, Atalanta attempted her best to get him to understand, pressing Crio stronger to her chest. Softly his blue eyes glimmered and closed to the heavy burden of her plight, relishing on the warmth and her heartbeat.

“I would never drag you to Asclepius if we cannot help it. Before we do this, I will pull bullets and claws out of your body myself. But I am worried about you! It happens so often, that I cannot even remember the last time we slept together peacefully or allowed us to be more intimate. Medea doesn’t know what to do and she is scared as well! Please, I just want this to be over…You are so pale, my love. You nearly resemble a ghost.”. Afraid she shook her head, feeling herself crack under her own fear.

“Please…Please, Crio…I don’t want to lose you. Not again…”.

A shaky hand grasped her arm.

It was his own fault she felt the need to desperately plead to him. Hadn’t he been so reckless on the front back then, he’d never had to see her turn into a Berserker to protect him. And neither her tears she shed as she clutched his hand with the command seals.

“Y-You decide…”.

Slowly he raised his head, trying his best to smile up at her. “You do what you think is right…and I’ll follow…”, Crio weakly agreed to follow whatever course of action she deemed to be correct.

The sight of him struggling caused unbearable pain inside of her chest to the point she had to bite her lips. But she always relished on his trust when he himself knew he couldn’t think straight.

Pressing him back to her chest, Atalanta kissed his white strands, holding him until the pain finally subsided, no matter how long it took. “Good…I will call him right in the morning…”, Atalanta smiled, swaying softly.

A loud thunder tore the tender moment to pieces.

A sharp gasp hit her skin followed by painful groans.

She dreaded his touch disappearing. His hands released her hip to claw on his head once more. Growling and hissing, Crio fought the unbearable pain. It was as if someone was drilling into his brain.

Atalanta’s arms protected him, yet she cursed the weather outside.

“It will be okay! It will all be okay!”, she frantically whispered, kissing his hair and hoping for it to all be over soon. “It will be all better tomorrow, I promise! Asclepius will find out what is wrong with you without doubt! Gods, my love!”.

There was no rest that night.

Not leaving him alone for even a second, Atalanta endured to sight of Crio enduring whatever was torturing him. At some point, he had just passed out in her arms, like many nights before.

The moment the sun arose over the dark horizon, the god of medicine was called. Barely a few minutes passed before he arrived at the doorstep.

But he didn’t arrive alone.

“Hmm…”.

Holding Crio’s head and starting into his deep blue eyes, Asclepius tried to find any irregularities.

Any sign of physical stress or a body’s reaction to exhaustion.

He had checked his whole body already, every scar, with the attentive Atalanta always being close by.

Crio looked even more exhausted than the night before, drenched in sweat with a high fever. The white shirt he had was clinging to his body and the white mane the huntress loved to comb clinging to his neck.

As the god of medicine removed his hand, Atalanta swiftly asked her former comrade: “So? What is wrong with him?”.

The silent shake of his head was a nightmare raining down on her.

“No overstrain.”, he simply muttered, though with great confusion. Many sicknesses Asclepius had cured. His whole life was dedicated to fight death’s cold grip. But what he saw was nothing he had ever seen before. “Are you sure?”, Chiron questioned his student’s deduction. “Is there no sign of stress or anything?”.

He asked not because of thinking Asclepius to be wrong, but pure curiosity.

Even a teacher can learn from his students.

“His pupils are normal. If it was prolonged exposure to a monitor or inadequate lighting, he would suffer from dry eyes. And from looking at it alone, he aches more from a lack of sleep than anything.”, the medic explained, turning his head to Atalanta.

Quietly she had been biting her nail in frustration and fear. Asclepius had been her last hope and even he had no idea what was going on with her husband. She tried to stay strong, but her heavy breaths showed different.

“I can guess his lack of sleep is from the headaches, correct?”, Asclepius asked, earning a swift nod. “Yes.”, she swiftly answered with a hiss. “He hasn’t slept a single night through. 4 hours at most until the headaches woke him up. And when he fell asleep, it was suddenly, as if fell unconcious.”.

“How did he look when he awoke?”.

“Tired and pale. He never wakes up refreshed again. I can only compare it to the great holy grail war when was recovering.”.

Crio couldn’t answer himself. His throat was too dry to speak, even having come down with a fever after last night. Staying awake was hard enough.

Chiron tapped his chin. ‘How did he come down with that all of a sudden? When exactly?’, he wondered about the circumstances. ‘Directly after we came here, Artemis took care of him. Queen Penthesilea explained her new relationship with Achilles, him receiving a grim warning to not break her heart or she would break his bones…’. A small chuckle was withheld at the sight of the white haired master looking as if he could fall over any second. ‘…and Artemis also allowed Atalanta and Crio to marry in a heartbeat, embracing him in tears. I don’t know how long she knew about him, but I know that he is being taken care off and released from servitude to the primordial gods above my parents.’.

Taking a small breath, Chiron turned his head to Atalanta. “May I ask you something?”, his polite question answered with a swift nod. “When did his headaches start?”.

“About two weeks now.”.

The timing seemed off to the teacher. It fit too perfectly with something else.

Achilles’ constant nightmares about Patroclus.

Frustrated, Atalanta glared at Asclepius’ golden eyes closing. “So? What could you find out?”, she pressed on, frustrated. “There must be something. You said it cannot be one. But then what about the other?”.

Asclepius, the god of medicine, sighed. Telling this to a woman in love was always hard on a doctor. Never was it easy to tell them when they couldn’t help.

“…I don’t know.”.

Her heart stopped, feeling the cold knife plunging into her chest. Paling and shaking, cold sweat gathered on her forehead.

It was a nightmare.

“You must be jesting…”, Atalanta struggled to comprehend, reaching out to him.

Asclepius didn’t flinch when her leaf colored nails dug clenched his shoulders. Widened eyes like hers he had seen too often to count.

“You went down in legend as the god of medicine. You treated so many of my wounds together with Medea, much less Heracles! There must be…”.

Asclepius bit his lips behind his mask when a tear rolled down her cheek, hitting her bare feet.

“Please…something. Anything…I beg of you, Asclepius there must be something! I-“.

Before she could say any further, Crio began to hunch over, covering his mouth.

Dry coughs stopped her from further pressuring the Caster and her arms immediately wandered around her husband’s waist. Helplessly she listened to his suffering, emerald eyes begging for help from Asclepius to Chiron. The one who taught so many heroes.

“Please…Chiron…”.

Yet the sage as well didn’t know what to do, only averting his gaze. He had a hunch, but he didn’t wish to give her false hope.

Unstopped, feeling Crio’s search her shoulder for support and comfort, Atalanta silently began to cry. Her whole world seemed to break down with every caught she was forced to listen to.

“What…am I supposed to do?”.

Softly, her tears rolled down her red cheeks. “What is going on with you?”, soft, helpless whispers escaped her lips. “Is somebody taking you away from me? Why? Why are they doing this to you?!”.

The moment these words fell, somebody frantically banged against the door. The timing couldn’t have been worse with Atalanta’s current state and Crio himself fearing what is going on with himself. Waving at Atalanta to stay here, Chiron courteously opened it for the grateful huntress.

And his body froze at the sight of skyblue eyes, hatefully narrowed. Rarely had he seen them this furious, accompanied by a man that could be described as a walking muscle.

“L-lady Artemis!”, Chiron gasped a bit. “Lord Orion! What are-“.

“Out of my way.”.

Never did she brush greetings aside. Heeding the goddess of the hunt, he stepped aside, letting her pass. Her mana was intense and scorching.

Orion sighed apologetically with a hand on the gulping teacher’s shoulder. “Something is going on and Artemis felt it.”, he whispered down to the sage, keeping it between them. “No one could stop her and she pulled me along as well.”.

Atalanta didn’t even have the time to greet her goddess. A gentle touch on her cheek, Artemis soothed Atalanta and wiped the tears away before she gazed at her tired son’s coughing attack finally stopping. A weak smile spread on his lips. “Hey…”. “Shhh…Don’t speak.”, she hushed him calmly. Putting her hand against his forehead, despite her intense expression, Crio relaxed completely.

And slowly, his headaches seemed to lessen.

“There, there.”, she spoke to both of them. “Everything is going to be okay. Just relax, _agori mou.”._

He didn’t know how often Artemis had called him that before. It felt so out of place having a woman call him her son. But the more him and Atalanta fell for each other, the more the thought about him having a mother grew on him. She was his shield, not allowing him to be tortured anymore.

But Artemis’ warm azure eyes bore a dark secret…

…and hidden, burning anger.

“Asclepius. Chiron.”.

Both immediately turned their heads towards the goddess, nodding firmly. “I appreciate your attempt to help my child. You can leave. I am taking care of this.”, Artemis firmly commanded. “Your job is done. Go home.”.

It was rare that they all felt a chill down her spine from the goddess that said to live for romance.

Artemis was an easygoing goddess. She loves those who vowed their lives to her bow, seeing them as her daughters. Yet, she was not wrathful when her girls wanted to offer it to someone, a man they truly loved from the bottom of their hearts.

That was not the same with Atalanta and Crio.

It was the goddess’ life goal to bring these two together. Never did she find a man worthy of her daughter, as she was an extraordinary woman. A huntress, cold to those who never understood her wish, hiding love for those who would walk that path with her. After Atalanta died and was recorded in the throne of heroes, denying her a peaceful death after a horrid life, Artemis wanted to free her from a cycle of endless betrayal. One night during the Peloponnesian war between Athens and Sparta, the goddess of the hunt witnessed Ares’ delight as war had struck an island.

It was a slaughter. Like wild animals they savagely tore the enemies and those in-between apart, leaving alone a boy that travelled over the ocean.

She thought it was fate that the boy who read the story of Atalanta so often and cried at nights for the life she led was led into her arms that night. If he was born at the same time as the huntress, maybe her end would have been different.

Why else would he have stranded in Arcadia?

But before she could help that very child, primordial gods noticed that one of their own, or rather, their ‘blade’, had given his heart to save the boy’s life. And the act of kindness was repaid with cruelty when they tore him away from Artemis’ protective grasp, leaving the goddess to cry out with the broken heart of a mother.

When the great holy grail war approached its beginning, the goddess of the hunt left nothing more to fate.

Atalanta’s summoning to Crio.

Their battles together.

Falling in love.

It might seem more like something Aphrodite would do and Artemis was prepared to receive such scorn. For all she did, even if it was just the best for the both of them, the goddess had become involved in a love affair, something she vowed to never do.

But her children were not angry with her. The summoning could only work because Crio and Atalanta were so similar, both harboring a desire to save children and Artemis making it possible.

They were thankful.

Never did she forget that night under the moon.

Crio’s nervousness as he waited for Atalanta to come, only to nearly fall unconscious at how indescribably beautiful Atalanta looked in the white dress Artemis made by herself. How the huntress gazed with wet eyes at her goddess, whispering her gratitude for this moment to happen

The sight after the goddess told her children to exchange their vows none of the witnesses had ever forgotten.

Relief, happiness and so many more emotions that swelled up in her chest she couldn’t put on her tongue.

How tears fell when Crio put the ring around Atalanta’s finger. Their blush when her gown was lifted and they exchanged their first, tender kiss as husband and wife.

And never, that Artemis swore, would she let Crio or Atalanta suffer like this ever again.

That she proved today.

Artemis took her children to her estate, far away from the city to the other side of the woods, allowing a gorgeous view over the sea.

But joy was nowhere to be seen on Artemis’ face, watching over her son, his head pressed to Atalanta’s heart in the bed they would take for the next nights.

What her azure eyes could see, none would understand.

A dark mist seemed to cover his body, looking as if it was clawed out from his body.

Entering the bedroom of the two, Artemis smiled at her helpless dauther. “Atalanta…”, the goddess called out sweetly to her tired baby. Raising her head, Atalanta helplessly gazed at Artemis, unable to stop crying. Very gently and with silent steps, a hand reached out towards the huntress’ cheek. “He will be fine. Don’t worry.”, she whispered cheerfully, careful not to wake her son. “You two just need some change of scenery. Give him a few days away from the city and he will be okay.”.

Atalanta nodded, trusting her goddess with her life who wiped her tears away.

The fear of her first and only love dying in her arms terrified her. The very thought of the entire holy grail war, all that suffering, to have been for naught, made Atalanta dread what she might find waking up the next morning.

Tenderly kissing Atalanta’s and Crio’s temples, Artemis whispered goodnight. “Kalinichta, you two. I’ll make you something good for breakfast tomorrow.”.

As the goddess walked out, silently closing the door…

…a deep scowl edged herself on her beautiful face.

Faintly, her mana took the shape of the purest white flame ever to be seen and her long wavy hair began to lift.

‘All of them…’.

The agitated steps of her heels filled the silence of the hallway with terror. Perfect nails jabbed into her palm.

‘Every single one of them…’, she cursed.

Never did she forget the face of the one that slapped her and took Crio away from her. Artemis’ anger never faded and she had promised herself to free him.

Now she did and something else, something greater, was coming after him.

The breeze on the balcony felt good on her skin. But it couldn’t hold back her overboiling anger as she clenched the railing.

A large shadow began to cover her body as heavy footsteps approached her.

“Artemis.”.

Gazing behind her, Orion was the cause of the shadow casting over her, gazing down with his arms crossed. “You know what is going on, right?”, he assumed.

He got no answer…

…aside from a dark look on her face and a warning.

“I lost Crio once.”, she reminded the greatest hunter of all time. He nodded, remembering her tears all to well. Her despair as she pressed herself against his massive frame.

That day, Orion had been furious, wishing to find the ones who brought Artemis to tears. But if he did, nothing would have remained of him.

Taking a deep breath, he sighed. “I know. You loved him already as if you birthed him yourself.”, he held his voice low. “Artemis…what is going on with him? Why are you keeping silent?”.

“Something is coming after him. Or rather, it is pulling him away from us.”, Artemis cryptically explained, unaware of Orion’s terrifying look.

“They are trying to take him away from me!”.

Watching her body covered into bright white flames, Orion worried for what was about to happen. Rarely had he seen Artemis furious. “Never again. I promised that none would take him away from me ever again, no matter how it is! Even if it is ‘them’, before I lose my status and divinity, I will mount at least one head on my wall!”.

Always her smile was bright.

Always her love was warm.

Even with his own inability to stop ogling beautiful women, she would be angry, but sigh and just turn her back, sometimes laughing at herself for having fallen for him.

But pure hatred like what is tainting the magnificence was unbecoming of her.

The very sky inside of her darkened, not allowing any to enjoy her eyes.

It was a mother, ready to let hell loose upon earth.

Having turning into beautiful stars lifting to the skies, Artemis asked one thing of her beloved.

_“Watch over them while I am gone, Orion. I will return soon.”._

His club in a tightly clenched hand, the hunter nodded sharply turning towards the bedchambers of the arcadian huntress to guard them.

…

Gigantic.

Nothing else could describe the being that held the world between its fingers.

Its eyes closed, the being watched how a young man dressed in red robes defeated one of the feared furies guarding the exit of Tartarus. He unfortunately had to fight the most sadistic out of the three, the dreaded Alecto and the battle had left him heavily exhausted.

“Hmm…”, the indescribable figure muttered, tapping its chin. “You are beginning to wane, son of Hades.”.

Watching divine water be poured over the black hair, refreshing the young man, it wondered what was going wrong.

“Ever since you made it once to the king of Athens and minotaur, your trials seemed to have become too much for you. The gods of Olympus still aid you, yet the Hydra is what puts your efforts to rest every time.”.

As the mirror faded, the origin of all gazed at something else…

A delicate huntress with a long, golden mane tenderly cradled her husband underneath the blanket. Sweat was rolling down the man’s temple and neck as the woman tried to soothe him.

“…It is time…”.

With a snap of its mighty fingers, the primordial being’s dark fog surrounding the white-haired man began to vanish.

“Come to me…oh, blade of the gods. Bearer of my title. I have a task for you.”.

However, the moment it turned its head away to watch the young god’s fight against the bone Hydra, it felt something it didn’t foresee.

White stars covered the body of the man the huntress held so lovingly.

“…Artemis…”, he realized. “She is refusing…”.

A part was amused while another lamented.

“The gods of your world have mostly perished, thanks to the white titan. You are the sole survivor of that massacre.”, it seemed to nearly sigh with sympathy. Realizing that the first meeting will be anything but peaceful, the being that loomed over the universe prepared for the inevitable.

Shadows appeared in front of his inner eye, turning into magnificent weapons.

A golden spear forming into two shapes. One man wearing long green robes with golden hair and the other with green, armored, with a long orange scarf waving in the wind. A man not matter the appearance, haunted by the loss of a loved one.

A beautiful golden bow turned into the shadow of a man, bearing long brown hair and the lower body of a horse. A wise sage that taught many heroes, needed to teach someone new.

Twin fists formed into mighty paws of a lion. However, upon a moment’s notice, they’d turn into a king, clad in armor of the brightest gold and a waist cape, red from the many wars. A ruler, who viewed his people as his most prized treasure and had an unbreaking will, displeased of weakness.

The last, a magnificent sword. A shining star upon every weapon. The shape it took seemed so delicate and frail, with hair of gold. Yet that female was a proud king, leading knights that went down as legends. For her people, she would become a guiding light.

“I do not wish to take him away. But the son of Hades needs assistance in order to achieve his goal. I will not force your son to. If he so chooses, he can return to his wife.”, the being accepted as it stared at the figures.

“However, the son of Hades needs a fighting chance. He needs an advisor…and lessons to learn. The meaning of loss and the burdens of a ruler.”.

**Author's Note:**

> Now...how did all of this even start?
> 
> In short: Me and my friends who are all fans of the Fate franchise and love Hades to death, speaking about the characters and their lore. To take a bit of a break from Apocrypha to recharge my batteries a bit and take a step back, I began writing a concept. 
> 
> Well, I hope you will enjoy this journey through Tartarus and Asphodel.


End file.
